


Hurt Not the Oil and the Wine

by jane_potter



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Outdoor Sex, Pegging, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-26
Updated: 2011-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jane_potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come and see, they had said, and she had come. And she had gone, with a flash of light and a pathetic jingling noise, back into the minds of man. Now she was back... and she was making up for lost time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt Not the Oil and the Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Anon at good_omens_kink on LiveJournal, who asked for War/Famine, pegging, hatesex, War on top and in control. **Mouse over the high-tech footnote to read.** :)

_Come and see_ , they had said, and she had come.

And she had gone, with a flash of light and a pathetic jingling noise, back into the minds of man. ( _"And woman," the little girl had emphatically insisted, brandishing her fist warningly, though Red was not to know this._ ) Being men, of course, they had brought her right back out. They'd never been able to resist her, even after they swore they'd given her up, forever seeing her silhouette in the shape of their ploughshares and her promise in the cut of blade through earth.

So she had come back... and she was making up for lost time.

She was also not in the best of temper.

Famine's back thudded loudly against the side of the tank, a hollow clang that made the emaciated child soldier inside it stir weakly and then subside back into his slump over the steering wheel with a whistling sigh, too exhausted to even start the ignition of his war machine.

War's eyes blazed. Even in baggy fatigues she gave the impression of being about to burst free of a constraining garment-- her skin, in fact, though that didn't translate well into the human perception of the world. The impressions of weapons and violence pushed at her flesh from the inside, carving her cheekbones into knives and her nails into spears. She'd had trouble fitting back into a human skin ever since being thrust out of it.

Looking utterly unconcerned by the hand wrapped around his throat (1), Famine gave her a thin smile, the only kind he was capable of. He, too, was wearing his flesh rather stiltedly (what little of it there was, that is). His eyes burned like hollow grey coals from sunken pits in his skull.

"What," growled War, in no mood for pleasantries, "do you think you're doing here?"

"Much the same thing as you, I imagine," he replied, evenly enough but through clenched teeth. "Getting back on the horse."

War slammed his head against the tank. The skin-bound skeleton propped up against the side of the tank wobbled and flopped over in the dust of the deserted courtyard, only the flutter of his eyelids suggesting that they hadn't just been joined by a third co-worker.

"You know, I thought you'd be smarter than this," War said, her voice a slippery deathrattle in Famine's ear. Something dangerous and rather pleasant prickled down his back. "After all, you were the one always dealing with the new kid butting in on your operations Before. You know how _annoying_ it is, not being able to work a job without someone else showing up-- as if you're _incapable_ of handling it yourself."

"Annoying wasn't the word I used," he reminded her.

" _Infuriating_ ," she hissed, digging clawlike fingernails into his chest through what might once have been a tailored suit, now rather poorly fitting.

"Excruciatingly so," Famine agreed, with a twitch of his hand. In the earth beneath his feet, the spring of water that fed the military compound's last well dried up.

War howled with rage and flung him up against the tank again in a flurry of savage blows and bites that left her lips shining with a wet, red imitation of lipstick. A spatter of gunfire rang out as, somewhere within the atrophied compound, a couple of lingering survivors broke out fighting over the last rat-chewed MRE. Under the rain of fists, Famine only threw back his head and laughed.

Their co-worker visited briefly and was gone again.

"Go back to your boytoy," War snarled, flinging Famine away from her and into the dust. "This is _my_ disaster."

"Not according to the papers," said Famine gently, through a veil of blood that somehow managed to avoid dripping to the ground, loath as he was to provide the soil with any kind of nourishment.

"An entire continent wasn't good enough for you?" War shrieked. Dust puffed up like miniature mushroom clouds as she launched herself at him and tackled him to the barren ground, tearing at his clothing. "You have to have the one place I've got right now?"

"As if you didn't have continents of your own," snapped Famine in return. "The Austro-Hungarian Empire, I ask you. I should have never let you get away with taking up _that_ much time over one little assassination."

"You had Povolzhye!" The buttons of his shirt sprang across the ground like shrapnel, followed by her combat boots and his Oxfords.

"You were there too," Famine retorted, his eyes burning. Hunger roared inside of him-- not in the pit of his stomach, but elsewhere. He liked the way it consumed him, but hated the way it made him needy. Needy was for humans, with their caloric requirements and water dependency. "That was _your_ show."

"Exactly," War said, destroying the remainder of his clothing in a few savage rips. "My show. _Mine_."

Naked in the sunlight, her body gleamed with sweat and gun oil, and his with the suggestion of bleached bone just beneath the surface. Panting, War flipped Famine over onto his front, raking her nails across the points of his spine and narrowing her eyes at the way he arched into it.

"I hate being interfered with," Famine whispered harshly. "You, the brat--"

"Then why come all this way to interfere with me?" demanded War, her breasts pushing lushly against his back as she pressed close to hiss in his ear. "I was leaving you alone."

"It's always one of you, sooner or later," Famine whispered back, his smile so much like a knife that War almost approved of it. "I'll have it on my own terms, this time. See how you like being the one interfered with. And frankly, my dear--"

He twisted sharply and caught her lower lip between his teeth, biting hard and deep enough that the pain sent a bolt of sizzling heat straight to War's core.

"--I rather prefer the kind of reception I get from you."

Largely occupied with savaging Famine's mouth, War reached out a vague hand for her discarded fatigues and pawed through them until she found what she wanted in one of the pockets: long, thick, blunt and brutal.

Plenty of people used sex as a weapon, and War never went unarmed.

She mounted him like a predator tackling its prey, sleek and savage and perfectly designed for the kill. Famine bared his teeth in something eerily close to a deathgrin and shuddered exquisitely, though he was set off balance by the sensation of his body being _filled_ by anything. He didn't approve of War's weapon of choice; it was far too wide, and his preferences ran to the markedly slim. But he had to concede, grasping and tearing at the arid earth as she plowed into his body, that she wielded it well.

"Remember Boston, 1713?" War purred into his ear, breathless and triumphant.

"That was a delicate, long-term operation," Famine growled, "and then you stopped in and blew it all up, and they set _laws_ that put an end to all my work."

"New York, 1837."

"As if you didn't have enough to be--nnh-- getting on with in Canada."

"France," War breathed, "1789."

Famine's face contorted with loathing, though it was almost immediately swept away by pained ecstasy as War punctuated her words with a powerful jerk of her hips. "Unforgiveable," was all Famine rasped, teeth bared.

"Oh, come now," said War, a smile playing about her red, red mouth, "they always do-- _mmm_ , yes-- do remember that it was you who started the whole thing off."

"Yes, and then-- _ah_ \-- tell the rest of the story about you."

" _Madame Guillotine_ ," sighed War, the words melting in her mouth.

Her lithe figure surged and stretched against Famine's bony form as she continued to ride him, staking claim on his body like a conquering general. The sharpnesses of his shoulder blades and hip bones were very nearly enough to cut into all her muscle and curves, and she appreciated that. It was almost enough to make her like him.

Shaking and rasping harsh breath through gritted teeth, Famine finally lost the doomed war he had been fighting and surrendered to the pleasure that convulsed through him. His body heaved violently as release wrung him even drier than he had been, reluctant to surrender even the few drops of infertile seed that War had managed to strip from him. They flecked the arid earth, turning it wet and dark for a moment before an extremely alarming black, noxious taint began to crawl out through the dusty soil. At the feel of Famine shuddering beneath the assault of his pleasure, War let out a howl of victory and thrust deep one last time, grinding out a thunderous climax of her own with several sharp, vicious jerks of her hips against the hilt of her weapon.

Greasy smoke poured into the sky as roaring fires consumed the buildings around them, though neither of them had noticed quite when the compound's remaining stock of grenades had gone off, and the poisoned earth baked in the relentless sun, and their third co-worker visited briefly and vanished again without comment. It was the very last time that he would have to attend that particular corner of the world for quite some time.

Still wrapped up in each other, they lay tangled on the ground like corpses, or sun-bleached skeletons. There was a shocked, ringing silence, the kind that had once echoed in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Into it, all Famine murmured, with his slender knife of a smile, was, "If this was meant to convince me not to visit, War, I have to say... you're going to be _very_ disappointed in the future."

“Go ahead,” War smiled, her teeth very shiny and very sharp. “Try me.”

And so they went out upon a horse that was red and another one that was black, and they went to take peace from the earth, that men should kill one another, and they hurt not the oil and the wine while they were at it, either.


End file.
